A Little Unwell
I am not crazy.
They say I am, but I know better. I know what is real, what's make believe. I'm not some fucking kid watching a television show about monsters and thinking it all really exists. They don't understand what it's like to be me, to be a super hero locked up and tied down and studied and poked and fed blue pills and yellow pills and green and red and purple pills. "Treatment has failed to effect the subject" is what my chart said when I caught a glimpse. Yeah...well, no fucking kidding. That's because I don't need treatment. It's real, and they think a pill's gonna make it all disappear. Mom and Dad say I could come home if only. If only I were normal, if only the pills would erase the monsters, if only isolation could make it stop. Idiots. Fucking stupid grown-ups. But I AM a grown up. I take care of my sister and I save the world and my friends look up to me. And it. is. real.
They moved me last night. New place. Don't know what it's called; don't care to remember. There are girls who scream at night and it's so quiet when they scream and I just want someone to hug me. I want Willow to do a spell and make it all just snap away like it's all been some alternate dimension. And maybe when it all clears away there will be no more shrimp.
There are people in the new hospital who have been here forever. There are young ones like me, who just got here, and some who have been here a few years. And a few who have been here since they were young like me. But they aren't like me at all, they're crazy. I'm not crazy.
Not like the woman with the scars who says she's lived here since she was very, very small. Smaller than Dawnie. When I mention my sister, scar-lady giggles. There are delusional girls. That's what they say I am. But the delusional girls aren't like me at all. They think monkeys are chasing them or that it's still 1982, or that after they bought a thighmaster, Susanne Sommers started to stalk them and steal their garbage...
The anorexics freak me out. They call me crazy but at least I'm not some fucking stick. The sociopaths remind me of Faith. Lisa, one of the older ones, she's been here for so long...She's actually very old but there's a youngness that I see, because when she smiles she looks like the devil and her eyes get all shiny. And she's Faith. I called her Faith yesterday and she laughed and went away to her room. The nurses say Lisa has been here on and off since the 60's. She's not crazy like the anorexics or the cutters or the delusional girls (who are not like me at all). But she's really nuts, anyway. She told me a story once, about throwing knives just to see what they would hit. And that's crazy.
When I get out of the hospital, I'm gonna find everyone and tell them I'm sorry for messing it all up. I wonder what I've missed. I wonder if the world ended and I didn't know it. Maybe this is hell. Maybe this is my alternate dimension. I asked a doctor if shrimp existed on this plane of existence, and he upped the dosage of my pills. I keep telling them, but they never listen to me.
I'm not crazy.